


Wear Your Heart on Your Skin

by BbeGrl238



Series: Tumblr Prompts [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Fluff, I mean come on, M/M, Nat is a good bro, Non-Linear Narrative, Post CA: TWS, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompts, but isn't he always, no tank tops were harmed in the making of this fic, other characters mentioned in passing, steve is a sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 05:43:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7087573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BbeGrl238/pseuds/BbeGrl238
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve get's a tattoo in the hopes that it will bring Bucky back home to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wear Your Heart on Your Skin

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic is tragically late to one of my favorite tumblr followers [kay-mika](http://kay-mika.tumblr.com) and I really can't express how sorry I am! But, it's finally done...well done-ish? There will be a completely self indulgent second chapter of the sexy times coming soon. When I post the second chapter I will update the rating as well ;)
> 
> Betta'd by the lovely [sliceosunshine](http://sliceosunshine.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. I swear this wouldn't exist if it weren't for [bustybarnes](http://bustybarnes.tumblr.com/) and her endless cheerleading! 
> 
> Thanks guys! I wouldn't have anything to post without you two!

Steve got the idea during his morning coffee.

He was sketching random customers like usual when a young man entering the cafe caught his attention. The boy, he couldn’t be older than 19 or 20, was wearing basic jeans and a tank top with a beanie pulled low over his brow, and he was covered in tattoos. As far as Steve could tell, the boy had a sleeve on his right arm that started at his shoulder and went down to the wrist, a large, indistinguishable piece on his chest, and several more pieces on his back and left arm. The tattoos were beautifully done with bold, dark lines and vibrant colors, and, even though there were clearly several different artistic styles, they all seemed to come together in a visibly pleasing manner. Steve was fascinated with the way he turned his body into a canvas; the way he let his skin speak for him, tell stories, and remember.

The only time he can recall even considering a tattoo was back during the war with the Commandos. It had started as a joke in a bar somewhere in Europe, but Steve and Bucky were well into their drinks; Dum Dum had yelled out something about the Howlies needing a unit insignia so they could all go get it tattooed the next time they found a guy, and it had, apparently, been a great idea at the time. Steve had been roped into drawing up several choices, and, for the next three months, every time alcohol was brought out, getting a tattoo was all they would talk about. The jokes and planning continued until the night before the train; nobody had the heart to mention it again after…

Steve comes back to himself, mentally shaking off the melancholy those memories always drag up and watches the people move around him for a moment before jumping up. He shuts his sketchbook and shoves it under his arm, leaves a tip on the table, and is out the door and straddling his bike in a matter of seconds. Steve slips his sketchbook into his saddlebag and digs his phone out of his pocket, dialing Natasha.

She answers on the second ring. “Shoot.”

Without any preamble Steve asks, “Hey Nat, would you happen to know any local tattoo artists?”

Natasha huffs a laugh. “Well, hello to you too, Steve. Yes, I know someone who is willing to become a local if necessary. Why, you getting a tat?”

“Uh, yeah, actually. So, how long before they’re available?”

“Wait- you? Steve... you’re a supersoldier, remember? Tattoo ink will wash off in minutes, probably before it was even finished.”

Ah. He didn’t think about that. “Hey, Nat, do you think Tony or Bruce would be able to make tattoo ink that the serum wouldn’t reject?”

Natasha sighs. “I don’t know, Steve. I’ll make a few calls and talk to Stark. Just- please tell me this doesn’t have to do with Barnes?”

Steve doesn’t like lying to people and won’t lie to his friends, and, honestly, there’s really no point since she’d know the minute she saw the tattoo. He shrugs even though she can’t see him. “I could, but that’d be a lie. Thanks, Nat, I really appreciate it. I’ll see you at the tower?”

Steve can practically hear her rolling her eyes when she says, “Yes, Steve. I’ll see you at the tower. Possibly with a tattoo artist in tow.”

She ends the call, and Steve puts his phone away, letting out a breath. Starting his bike and pulling away from the curb, he can’t help but grin. He’s gonna do this, and if all works out, he should have Bucky back in no time.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

“So, Romanoff tells me you want a tattoo? I’ll just need some of your blood so I can reverse engineer a viable ink. I can spare you the science talk. It’s do-able; in fact, I might have ink available as early as tomorrow. You could have asked me yourself, though.”

Steve stops a few steps out of the elevator to see Tony walking out of the kitchen with a grin and a glass of something green. He really should be used to Stark popping up whenever he wants, seeing as it’s his building, but he is constantly at awe that Tony has almost no boundaries.

“Tony.” Steve nods in greeting. “Thank you for helping me. And, I was going to ask you as soon as I got home… didn’t realize Natasha beat me to it.”

Tony waves his comment away. “No worries. So mission “get a tattoo to bring home the boyfriend” is a go, then. I’ll go work on our awesome new supersoldier tattoo ink.” As he’s walking into the elevator, he pauses and looks back to ask, “Hey, you think I could market this stuff?” He pauses for a moment before shaking his head. “Nahh.”

Tony enters the elevator mumbling to himself, “Not enough demand....”

Steve shakes his head in exasperation and laughs a bit as the elevator doors shut. At least Tony’s willing to help. Between him and Natasha, he might actually be able to pull this off.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

A week later, Steve is at Coney Island with Natasha and Clint, trying to talk himself into taking his shirt off.

“Come on Steve,” Clint whines. “The longer you think about it, the less likely you are to do it! Just whip it off!” Clint grins and Natasha laughs when Steve flushes.

“Not helping guys,” he mumbles.

He knows he needs to get the image of his new tattoo out somehow, and the best way to do that is to get the gossip sites and tabloids to pick up the story. The best way to ensure they do? Well, according to Natasha and Tony, it’s to take your top off. In public.

Steve sighs. Well, it’s now or never. He grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it off, throwing it at the laughing pair, before striding towards the beach, casual as possible, and diving into the waves.

When he strolls up to Natasha lounging on a towel about an hour later, he knows he’s accomplished what he wanted. There are cameras everywhere, some trying to hide and others being bold, snapping pictures and crowding the beach.

Natasha grins and says, “How long do you think it will take them to call me your girlfriend?”

Steve laughs. “Nat, they’d have to be crazy to write about you after what happened to the reporter who said you were Hydra in disguise.”

She gasps in mock outrage. “Steven! That was not me!”

Clint walks up, then, carrying a corndog and snorts. “That’s right, _Steven_ , give credit where it’s do. Are we done here? Can we go now?”

Steve shrugs in a non-committal gesture and offers a hand to Natasha, which she promptly bats away. She hops up and pulls a shirt and shorts on over her bikini, handing Steve her towel so he can dry off. “I don’t see why we’d need to stick around any longer. Clint, give Steve-o here the shirt we found.”

Clint smirks and pulls a tank top out of seemingly thin air, offering it to a now dry Steve. Steve pulls it on without reading it and goes to hand Natasha back her towel—only to see her trying not to laugh. Confused, he looks down; the tank top they gave him was white, trimmed around the neck in red, and the arms in blue, proudly declaring ‘GOD BLESS AMERICA FOR DAT ASS’ in stars and stripes.

Steve throws back his head and laughs. “Well, I’ll definitely make it into the tabloids now.”

Clint snickers.

“Wasn’t that the point?” Natasha innocently asks, blinking her eyelashes for effect.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

That first day at Coney Island, Steve hadn’t even made it back to the car before his phone was buzzing with a text from Tony.

**Tony:** Nice tat

          www.tmz.com/2015/04/26/steve-rogers-beach-tattoo

**Tony:** Thanks for inviting me to your unveiling

**Tony:**  jk Cap it looks great...hope this works out

 

**Me:** Thanks, Tony. It means a lot…

 

**Tony:** yeah yeah, don’t be a sap Cap

         see what I did there :P

 

Steve just smiled and shook his head, pocketing his phone and jogging to catch up with Clint and Natasha.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

A few days later, he has a similar conversation with Darcy.

 

**Darcy:** So someone decided to get body work and didn’t invite me

**Darcy:** :’(

 

**Me:** Sorry, D, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal

 

**Darcy:** You’re forgiven  <3

**Darcy:** Thor says it looks great and he hopes you find your friend

 

**Me:** Tell him I said ‘thanks’ and ‘me too’

 

**Darcy:** What friend? Who did we lose?

**Darcy:** Does this have anything to do with what happened in DC??

**Darcy:** Steeeeeve! Come on!

 

**Me:** Good night, Darcy…

 

**Darcy:** Oh I see how it is…

**Darcy:** nite xoxo

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Steve closes the door with his foot, tossing his keys onto the entry table, and pulls his jacket off before rotating his shoulders, hoping in vain to relieve some of the stress. These past few days leaving his apartment has been hell. It’s a fight with the press just to get to his bike and a game of cat and mouse with those who want to follow him. He knows it’s his own fault. Captain America walking around wearing tank tops for a week would have caused a flurry of cameras on it’s own, but pair that up with a brand new, bright red star tattooed on his left shoulder, and he’s being featured on every tabloid and a few news channels. It’s exhausting, and the complete lack of privacy is insane; but if it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth it. Besides, the surprising support from his friends, over a tattoo of all things, was heartwarming.

A few hours later, Steve is boiling pasta and stirring the sauce in a separate pan when he get’s a phone call. Hastily washing and drying his hands, he answers with a quick and distracted, “Hello?”

Natasha forgoes a greeting in favor of asking, “Have you seen the news?”

Steve pauses and sets the rag on the counter. “Not today,” he answers slowly. “Natasha, what’s going on?”

“Just turn on the news. I think your little plan might be working.”

She ends the call with a click, and Steve stuffs his phone into his pocket. Heart thudding, he races into the living room and turns on the news. The first station is just talking about the fallout from the collapse of SHIELD, and Steve can’t help but distractedly wonder that they haven’t run out of things to talk about yet. The next channel is going over weather reports for the morning, and Steve growls in frustration, clenching the controller before changing it again.

He lucks out on the third channel. The newscaster is going on about something when a special report starts scrolling in on the bottom of the screen.

“ _Earlier this morning in Duluth, Wisconsin, the city was rocked by several small explosions. These unknown blasts are being labeled a terrorist attack by officials. Officials believe this attack may somehow be related to the collapse of SHIELD and should be taken very seriously. We will update you as soon as we receive more information…._ ”

_Bucky_ . Steve’s legs are threatening to give out when he collapses onto the couch. He must sit there staring at his blank tv for at least ten minutes before the smell of burning food pulls him into action. The entire time Steve spends tossing the burnt spaghetti and cleaning up the mess, he can’t stop thinking _Bucky Bucky Bucky. He’s coming closer; the last report was in South Dakota; he’s heading this way_. Bucky’s coming back.

~*~*~*~*~

 

When a month passes and the cameras go away, Steve starts to lose his natural optimism. His tattoo is old news. The constant tank tops aren’t as big of a draw as they used to be, and there haven’t been any new bombings or SHIELD related disasters. He’s sitting in the cafe where it all started, wallowing,  when Sam strolls in and pulls out a chair. He studies Steve for a moment without saying anything and, apparently satisfied with what he finds,  nods and leans back, crossing his arms.

After a few minutes, Steve makes a noise in the back of his throat and says, “What?”

Sam smiles and shakes his head. “Nothing, man, just relieved. Natasha made it sound like you were ready to toss in the towel or something.”

Steve arches an eyebrow. “And I’m not?”

Sam laughs. “Nah, Steve, you’re just pouting because he’s taking longer than you’d like. We both know that explosion on the news was a message for you. He saw your tattoo for what it was, and he’s coming home; it’s just taking a while and you,” Sam points at Steve, “don’t like waiting.”

“You’re right,” Steve admits with a wry smile, “I hate waiting. Me and Bucky, we’ve got some things to discuss, and I’ve been waiting 70 years for this conversation.” Steve shrugs and continues, “I guess I’m just getting impatient, waiting for him.”

Sam nods, and they slip back into silence for a moment, people watching, before he sighs and pulls an envelope out of his jacket. “Here’s your next love letter, I guess. This is the first time Natasha’s been able to get this close.” Sam slides it across the table and stands, patting Steve’s shoulder as he does. “Your boy is coming home, Steve. Take it from one soldier to another—he’s tired, and he’s ready.”

Steve takes the envelope and watches Sam leave, idly wondering if any of his friends understand how much he appreciates them. He stands as soon as Sam’s out of sight and tucks the envelope into his jacket pocket and heads home. Steve knows better than to check the contents in a public place, not knowing exactly what’s inside.

Now regretting the decision to walk this morning, Steve uses his elongated stride to his advantage and speed walks home. As soon as he’s in the door, he’s pulling out the envelope and ripping it open, catching a glossy 8x12 photograph as it attempts to fall to the floor. Turning it over reveals a grainy image of a building and a figure fleeing on the roof. _Bucky_. He’s cut his hair and almost blends into the wall in his jeans and hoodie, but the unmistakeable glint of metal fingers as the fleeing man flicks off the photographer is all the proof he needs.

Steve laughs and traces the image of his friend. “Hiya, Buck.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

“Okay, so remind me why we’re here again?” Clint asks, licking the grease from something off his fingers. “I mean, I love the idea of helping rebuild Coney Island, especially after one of our fights trashed it—don’t get me wrong—but why are we _here_ _—_ ” He pauses and snaps his (now clean) fingers in the direction of the crews setting up to the side. “And what’s with the photoshoot?”

Tony grins. “Well, Clint, thanks to Steve, here, it has been brought to my attention just how much the masses want to see us topless! I figured if we wanted to host a legitimate fundraiser, it’d be fun to do a calendar. I’d double any proceeds made, of course, and the pier already has crews working to rebuild courtesy of, well, me, but this would be something that got the people involved!” He finishes with a grand flourish encompassing the whole beach.

“A calendar,” Natasha deadpans. When Tony nods enthusiastically, she rolls her eyes. “Fine, but I get November.”

“Okay, so Natasha calls November- why? Ya know what, nevermind- and Steve obviously gets July; I call dibs on June!” Clint pauses. “Wait, but how’re we gonna fill the calendar? Do we _have_ that many friends?”

Tony smirks. “Well, I figured if all the Avengers take a month—I call Rhodey, and Steve calls Sam, with Vision, Wanda, and Pietro taking months—then maybe a group photo for Christmas or something?”

Thor joins the conversation for the first time with a cheeky grin and says, “I like it! I can take February!” He grins wider before adding, “Jane will probably get a kick out of that. Fertility god? February? No?”

Natasha and Steve chuckle while Clint high fives Thor. Tony makes a phone motion to Steve and then steps away with a “Making a few calls” thrown over his shoulder.

Steve calls Sam and tells him Tony’s idea; he’s surprisingly easy to convince and agrees. (“ _As long as I get September_!”) Steve ends the call laughing and says he can’t promise anything, but he’ll tell Tony Sam called dibs.

Less than an hour later, Tony manages to have the shoot up and running, complete with manic assistants attempting to corral the Avengers and their friends into  changing rooms—which are actually just a series of small tents just big enough for Steve to stand up straight in and move his elbows without knocking it over.

When Steve sees his outfit for the shoot, he gets dressed with a muttered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” It’s ridiculous, and he’d rather do the shoot topless and in a pair of jeans than this.

He walks out of the changing room wearing a loose, white tank top - that shows more than it covers - with a picture of his shield on it and a pair of low riding, pale blue board shorts that hug his uh, _assets_. Grumbling under his breath, he ignores the eyes he can feel following him and starts looking for Tony.

He spots Natasha and Sam laughing at something Clint said and changes directions, heading towards them instead, absently noticing Nat and Clint are already dressed for the shoot, but Sam is still wearing his jeans and polo.

Natasha glances up at Steve’s approach and immediately turns away, hiding her laughter behind her hair. _She_ gets to wear a basic black bikini with a sheer coverup wrapped around her, sarong style. Classy and elegant while still being beach wear, yet not highly revealing or suggestive. Although, to be fair, even Tony’s not stupid enough to try to dress Nat like a playboy model. Clint looks completely comfortable wearing his purple board shorts, trimmed in black, no shirt, and a harness for his bow and arrows. That is, until he throws his head back howling in laughter. As Steve gets closer, Clint grabs his stomach and bends over, smothering his laughter while muttering, “Oh, that’s not right. Hilarious, but not right.”

Sam finally clues into why they’re both laughing when Steve reaches the group. He looks Steve up and down and cackles, with Steve patiently waiting, before schooling his features and clearing his throat. “So, Steve...nice outfit.”

Steve sighs and holds his arms out in surrender. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. Get it all out of your system.” When the chorus of laughter starts back up, he sighs again, waiting them out. After a minute or two, they slowly taper off into snickers before quieting all together. Steve glances at all of their faces and sees at least mock seriousness. “All right. So let’s ask the question everyone’s wondering. What’s Tony’s deal?”

Natasha cocks her hip and sighs in exasperation, giving Steve an _okay stupid_ kind of look. “What do you think?”

“Pepper’s out of town again—” Clint singsongs, cutting off when Nat slaps him upside the head and rolls her eyes.

Steve’s pretty sure he can hear her mutter, “Children,” under her breath when she turns and stalks away.

Clint, rubbing his head where Nat smacked it, smiles sheepishly and says, “Pepper just left a few days agos. She was only supposed to be gone for a week, but now it looks like she’ll be gone at least a month. He’s not taking it well, obviously. No, scratch that, he’s handling it like he handles everything!” Clint gestures around. “Charitable extravagance!”

Steve sighs. He gets it, he does, but Tony really needs to work on handling these things better. Every time Pepper leaves for more than a few days, he finds some ridiculous way to get the group together, spend money, and attempt to help people, all at the same time. He means well, but, instead of just asking for company or inviting everyone over, he always turns it into a big spectacle. It’s exhausting.

Sam grabs Steve’s shoulder, pulling him back to the conversation. “So where’s my tent! I need to go suit up.”

Steve laughs and points Sam in the right direction, holding his smile until Sam turns away. He sighs and rolls his shoulders, attempting to relieve the tension he can feel steadily building up.

“All right, man, spill it.”

Steve’s head snaps up. For a moment, he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. Clint was a quiet observer when he wanted to be, and easily blended in with his surroundings.

“Spill what?” Steve asks, feeling jittery and exposed all of the sudden.

Clint watches him with sharp, observing eyes before shrugging and sitting on a grassy hill facing the beach. “I don’t know, Steve, but you haven’t relaxed your stance since you got here. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were expecting an attack.”

“Ahhhh.” Steve rubs his hands over his face and sighs. “If Fury had guys watching me, you’d let me know, right? You or Nat would tell me?”

“Jesus, of course, Steve! Why would you ask that?”

“I-I don’t know. I think. Bucky’s watching me.”

Clint stares. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

Steve laughs, short and bitter, and sits next to him. “I have no idea; I have no idea. He’s been sending me messages through Nat, but she hasn’t seen him in weeks. I just don’t know. It’s a feeling, I guess.”

Clint opens his mouth to say something and gets cut off by a frantic assistant yelling, “Mr. Rogers! We need you and Mr. Barton on set!”

“Okay.” Clint waves the assistant down and claps Steve on the shoulder. “We’ll get your boy, Steve, don’t worry. I think he’ll find you when he’s ready. And if he _is_ watching you, then he might be at that point. But,” Clint heaves a sigh and stands up, “for right now, we have to go take awkward pretending-to-be-sexy pictures before Tony finds us and decides on something worse than a calendar. Eesh.” Clint fakes a shudder, and Steve offers a small, only partially forced smile.

“Yeah. Let’s go get this over with.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

Steve is coming back from a quick grocery run a few days later when it happens. He barely gets the door open before he realizes something is off. That feeling is back again, like he’s being watched, like the air is charged with anticipation.

He pauses, takes a step back from the door and takes a deep breath.  He shifts his groceries to one hand and rolls his shoulders to loosen up, preparing for whatever is waiting for him on the other side of that door. Steve forces his heart to calm.

Stepping forward, he pushes the door open and walks in like nothing’s wrong. The man doesn’t move to acknowledge Steve at all, just stares at something in his hands. When Steve makes it all the way to the kitchen counter where he dumps his bags, and the man still doesn’t turn, Steve turns to get a good look at him.

Bucky has shaved since the last time Steve’s seen him. He still has peach fuzz, but it’s maybe a day or two old, instead of the beard he had before. His hair is clean and put up in a bun. Steve can’t tell for sure under all of the layers, but it looks like Bucky’s been eating better, filled out more since his time with Hydra. The shadows under his eyes are still there but not as pronounced, like maybe he’s gotten some sleep. He looks good. Better.

Steve says so out loud. “You look good, Buck.”

He doesn’t expect an answer, so he hides his surprise when Bucky, still looking at the his hands, says, “Thanks, Steve. Feel good. Better, anyway.”

A few second later, Bucky glances at Steve and smirks, holding up a glossy 8x10 of Steve from that day at the beach. “I never would have expected this from you, Stevie. It’s so...teasing. I always knew you had a mouth, but, damn, this makes me wonder if you know how to use it.”

Steve can’t look away from Bucky’s face, searching. He licks his lips and works out a stunned, “Wha- what?”

Bucky gestures to the photo again, then changes his mind and steps forward, offering it and a small slip of paper to Steve. “It’s a nice picture. Reminds me of the pin-ups the guys had back in the day.”

Steve takes it and makes a nervous, quick decision to read the paper first. It’s a small slip of lined paper that looks like it was ripped out of a small notebook. It reads:

 

_Snail mail for the old man!_

_The final copy for the charity calendar._

_Pepper said to pass it by you for approval; I told her you approved._

_Who knew you had it in ya, Cap?_

_Stark_

 

Steve snorts as he sets the paper aside and looks at the picture. At first, he doesn’t see what all the fuss is about. It’s just him in that ridiculous outfit standing in front of a white background. But then he looks again, _really_ looks and _Oh_.

Steve’s hair is tousled and soft, his cheeks are flushed pink, and his eyes are shining with a shy sort of mischief. His lips are bitten red and glossy, mouth parted slightly. The tank top is being pulled down and to the side, revealing more than it covers. Steve’s shorts are slung so low it’s obscene. _He looks like sex_ . The whole picture screams _come hither_.

Steve, suddenly feeling embarrassed, brushes his hands through his hair and sets the photo face down on the counter. “Jesus,” he mutters.

Bucky laughs, husky and deep. “I was there that day, you know? And I was watching you bite your lip and chuckle like you wanted to disappear. The tattoo, it’s nice. It was a nice touch.”

Steve lets out a breath, stepping closer until their chests are almost touching. “I knew you were watching me.”

“I know. I just-” Bucky takes the final step forward and nearly collapses into Steve’s arms. It’s not a hug, not really. There’s too much desperation in the way they cling to each other. “I needed time. I still wasn’t ready, but I needed to be closer. It helped, knowing you cared. I’m so sorry, Steve. For everything.”

Bucky moves like he’s going to pull away, and Steve reluctantly lets him go when he steps back. “It’s okay, Buck. What they did to you—” Steve looks away and swallows. “I can’t imagine what you went through, Bucky. I don’t blame you for anything; what they made you do, or what you did after. It’s not your fault. It’s theirs.”

Bucky shakes his head and clenches his jaw, holding back things he wants to say but can’t yet. “It’s not okay, Steve, but it’s better. I-I was kind of hoping…”

“Hoping what?”

“That I could come home. If the offer still stands.”

Steve could cry, he’s so happy. He can practically feel himself glow. He wants to reach out and cling to Bucky for all he’s worth, but he can’t. Not yet. Instead he shoves his hands in his pockets and dances on the balls of his feet. “Yes, absolutely! Jesus, Bucky, of course! Are you—” Steve swallows. “Are you coming home to me, or just home-home?” He finishes on a whisper, terrified of the answer. If Bucky wanted to come home to Steve - the kid he grew up with, the roommate and best friend - then that’s what he’d get. If Bucky wanted Steve, the man he loved and slept entwined with during the war, knowing the risk if they got caught, then Bucky’d get him too.

In answer, Bucky lunges forward and cradles Steve’s face, kissing him breathless. Bucky smiles against Steve’s lips when he feels his soft little laugh. “How could I let you go when you went and got me branded on you?”

Steve pulls back, grinning. “Well, I had to get you home somehow, didn’t I?”

Bucky fakes a put upon sigh. “Let’s see it, Stevie.”

Steve smiles, grips the hem of his shirt, and gives him a stern look. “You can’t laugh, Buck. Behave.”

Bucky nods solemnly, and Steve takes a deep breath, pulling his shirt over his head and turning slightly. Bucky sucks in air through his teeth and reaches out a hand, hesitating. “ _Steve_ …”

“Oh, come on, Buck. You saw it in the calendar.”

It’s almost plain in design, very simple. The tattoo shows a red and white star with a curved horseshoe of writing on top: **_James Buchanan Barnes_**. Underneath the star is **_32557038_** in delicate script.

Bucky lightly traces the outline of the star, visibly swallowing, struck dumb with emotion. His soft, feather-light touch makes goosebumps break out on Steve’s skin, and Steve shudders.

Bucky sucks in a breath and attempts a smirk. “Steve. You didn’t have to do this, ya know?”

Steve catches Bucky’s hand and holds it to the tattoo. “I know, Buck. But I kinda did, ya know? How else was I gonna tell you that I’m still with you ‘til the end of the line?”

Steve lets go of his hand and looks away. “I- I love you James Buchanan. You’re a fool and stubborn as hell, but I need you.”

“Goddamit. Steven Grant Rogers. Get your ass over here and kiss the man that loves ya.” Bucky doesn’t give him time to hesitate. As soon as he sees the hope on Steve’s face, he steps close and grips the back of his neck to pull their mouths together.

Several minutes and kisses later when they finally break apart, Steve sighs and lays his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky cradles his head for a moment before gently pushing him off.

“What’s up, Buck?”

“Did you at least get to keep the outfit?” Bucky asks with a smirk.

Steve arches his brow. “Why, did you wanna try it out?”

Bucky smiles and kisses him again, lingering this time. “Maybe. Punk.”

Steve, who couldn’t keep the smile off his face even if his life was on the line, murmurs, “I did. I do. Jerk.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So like always, I am fueled by comments and kudos. Let me know what you think! And if you find any mistakes **please** let me know so I can fix them! Thanks for reading!  <3
> 
> Come say hi to me on [ tumblr](http://yeahishipitbitch.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> **Edit:** It has been brought to my attention that the image at the end isn't visible for everyone. I'm not sure why it's not working but you should be able to see it [here](http://yeahishipitbitch.tumblr.com/post/164377180905/wear-your-heart-on-your-skin-bbegrl238-captain)


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